‘Okay,’ he said. ‘Just be gentle with meeeaaAAAAAHHH!’
She grabbed his hand and plunged the needle deep into his finger. The pain was spectacular. Pinn gritted his teeth to prevent himself from calling her something unforgivable.
‘Oh, don’t be a baby,’ she said maliciously. She yanked his hand down and held it over the bowl. Blood squirted into the milk. It was terrifying to see that much come out at once. ‘There you go. We need enough to get a good reading. You are a beginner, after all.’
As soon as he was decently able, he pulled his finger away and stuck it in his mouth. ‘I said be gentle,’ he complained as he sucked it.
She enjoyed that, he thought. She actually enjoyed it.
She took the bowl of bloody milk from him and set it on a crate. When she looked back at him, he was staring at her with the eyes of a wounded and pathetic animal. She sighed and softened a little.
‘Give me your hand,’ she said. Fearfully, he did so, but this time she only wanted to bind the wound with some dressing from her pack. He gazed at her fondly as she wrapped his finger. So tender, he thought.
‘Now, then,’ she said when she was done. ‘Why don’t you try to read your future? See if the Allsoul’s gift is within you.’ She was gentler now, perhaps guilty for jamming a needle in his finger so hard that he felt it in his elbow.
Pinn composed himself and walked solemnly over to the bowl. He bent over and studied it. ‘Hmm,’ he said.
The blood swirled slowly in the milk, forming arcs and clusters of spots. None of it meant shit to him. He was slightly disappointed — part of him had expected divine abilities — but not deterred. The plan didn’t call for the intervention of the Allsoul, just a little creativity.
‘I see it!’ he said. ‘I see it, clear as day! The Allsoul is speaking to me!’
‘Are you sure?’ Marinda asked doubtfully. She came up to his shoulder and peered into the bowl. ‘What does it say?’
‘It says. . In the very near future. .’ Pinn traced the line of a swirl with his finger. ‘You and I will go off into the undergrowth and bang like rabbits!’
Marinda burst out laughing. It wasn’t quite the response Pinn had been expecting. He’d imagined something closer to a swoon.
‘What?’ he complained. ‘You have to. The Allsoul said so. You can’t deny His Whiskery Majesty.’
Marinda was holding her side and leaning against a crate. ‘Stop!’ she begged. ‘Oh, dear, no! Don’t say anything else!’
Pinn thought this was all pretty rude, and by the time she’d got herself under control, his mood had blackened to a thunderous sulk.
‘Heretic,’ he said peevishly.
She took a few deep breaths and wiped the tears from her eyes. ‘Artis, you haven’t done your research, have you? It’s very sweet that you’ve got a crush on me. . Wait, no, actually it’s not, but anyway. . Look, the thing is, Speakers are celibate.’
‘Yes!’ said Pinn, brightening. ‘We should celebrate!’
‘Celibate,’ said Marinda. ‘Thoughts of lust distract the mind from communion with the Allsoul. Speakers don’t have relations with anyone else.’
Pinn just stared at her. She’d said a bunch of words but they didn’t seem to mean anything. She put it more plainly for his benefit.
‘No sex,’ she said. ‘No kissing.’
‘Hand job?’ Pinn suggested hopefully.
‘Not that either.’
‘Shit,’ said Pinn. ‘Really?’
‘I’m afraid so.’
Pinn considered that for a short while. He shifted his weight from one foot to the other. He frowned and hmmed. Finally he arrived at the conclusion of his mighty cogitation.
‘Your religion bites arse,’ he said, and walked away.
After that, Pinn did what any hero would have done in his shoes. He headed for the bar.
The drinking tents had been set up mainly for the benefit of the mercs, who’d inevitably rampage if forced to stay sober for too long. Pinn stormed his way towards the central clearing of the Awakener camp, where the tents and stalls clustered thickest. On his way he pulled his cassock over his head and flung it into the mangroves. Damned thing was too hot to wear over his regular clothes anyway. He stopped at the edge of the path, where the swamp water lapped close, and wet his hands. Then he rubbed them all over his forehead until he’d reduced the smeared Cipher to a faint bluish smudge.
‘Stupid bloody Awakener bloody shit bloody,’ he muttered to himself as he walked.
The central clearing was busier than usual. Preparations for departure were in full swing, and the atmosphere was feverish with the anticipation of battle. There was a sense of time running out. People crowded the stalls and bars to spend their pay packets, to enjoy their last days in this company, to eat and drink and carouse in case they never got another chance. It all had the feeling of a particularly grubby and slightly dangerous fete.
The first drinking tent Pinn found was warm and muggy. A row of tables passed as a bar. Barrels and a still stood behind them, along with a crate of bottles and a rangy barman who looked like his face had melted in the heat. More barrels were placed upright around the tent to serve as tables. They were surrounded by stools, most of which were occupied even at this early hour. Pinn took a stool at the bar, ordered a grog and set to it.
Most of the first couple of hours were spent grinding his teeth and calling Marinda all the names he could think of. It took several drinks before he’d mellowed enough to stop hating her, and to start feeling sorry for himself.
He’d really made a mess of things this time. Here he was, in the middle of nowhere, with no idea where his mates were and no idea how to find them again. And all because of some stupid woman with a great big bloody tattoo on her forehead. What had he been thinking?
He pulled a crumpled piece of paper from his pocket and stared at it. His atrocious handwriting stared back at him. Each line had been crossed out.
Jurny.
Deth.
Dark hared stranger (not hot)
Find sumthin important
Trajedy on sum-one deer (emanda?)
You will beleeve!!
He balled it up in disgust and threw it over his shoulder. That was what he thought of prophecies. He could make prophecies too. He prophesised he was going to get hammered flatter than cowshit, and bollocks to anyone who tried to stop him.
Just then he caught sight of something on the ground by his stool. A crumpled ferrotype, that must have fallen from his pocket when he pulled out the piece of paper. With some effort he reached down and snagged it between his fingers, then brought it up to the bar and smoothed it out.
Looking back at him was Lisinda. Gentle, doe-eyed Lisinda. Lisinda of the soft hair and fulsome bosom. He’d crumpled up her picture on the way out of Korrene, meaning to deface it later, but he’d forgotten about it since then.
He gazed at her in wonder. It was almost as if fate had delivered her to him. She’d come to him in his time of need. A bit creased, but even so. A reminder. A message.
Lisinda.
He slammed his hands suddenly down on the bar. The barman stared at him.
‘I’ve made a terrible mistake,’ he announced.
There was only one thought in his mind as he blundered out of the tent and into the sunlight. Lisinda, Lisinda, Lisinda. Why hadn’t he seen it before? She was the one for him. She’d always been the one. She didn’t care about riches or great deeds. She’d loved him, and everything about him. And he loved her. He’d always loved her. He’d just forgotten about it till now.